Escaping Tortuga
by storygal
Summary: Olivia has lived in Tortuga her whole life, and hates it. She's desperate for some excitement in her life so when she finds herself homeless and in immediate danger, she decides to join the crew of The Black Pearl after meeting Captain Jack Sparrow. There is undeniable chemistry between them but will Olivia be able to overcome her trust issues and let herself be happy?
1. The Beginnings of an Adventure

**Hey guys, this is my first ever fan fiction so I'd love feedback. I've got a few more chapters still in progress and I'm prepared to carry on writing if I get positive reviews from them, so please let me know! Thanks-_ Sophie_**

I was running as fast as I could, pushing under-dressed and over-made up women out the way and stumbling over livestock. My long light brown hair was flowing out behind me in the warm Caribbean breeze as I made a dash for my last chance of hope. Tonight, I finally had a chance to get out of this shit-hole I had the misfortune to call home; something I had only realised how much I desperately wanted when the possibility of a life that didn't involve following my mother's footsteps presented itself. I felt fantastic, alive for once, running towards the port, chasing my dream. Of course, the fact that there were two enraged drunkards behind me only slightly dampened my mood. I heard one of them screech 'OLIVIA!' behind me. I laughed, dodging a barrel that they'd hurled at me. I seem to have a knack for getting myself into trouble but fortunately I seem to have a knack for getting myself out of it too. The thing is I never feel more alive than when I'm on an adventure; I love the thrill that every second provides.

I painfully twisted my neck around to see if the men were any closer and laughed to myself again. They looked ridiculous. One's overgrown mangled hair flying in his face while the other's formal wig rested lopsided on his head, obscuring his vision. Their clothing flapped about in the wind as they ran, like birds trying but unable to lift off the ground. Their names were Lord Smitherson and The Book-Keeper—the name which I'd creatively donned the book-keeper I'd worked for. He had never told me his real name, despite living and working in his store since I was twelve. The Lord was an Englishman, living in Tortuga as an official sent by the Governor of Port Royal to keep an eye on our apparently lawless island, although here he was known for running one of the biggest prostitute services in all the island. The Governor had no idea. I worked as an assistant to The Book-Keeper (well, up until last night at least) who had given me a place to stay in exchange for running his shop. I rarely saw him, since he was seemingly married to the tavern. However from the short visits he made, perpetually drunk and bringing with him a different whore each time, I had judged that he was not a pleasant man.

The ship I was running towards had only just been unhooked from the docks—I could still make it. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I sped up, certain I was going to trip over my own feet. If I didn't get on that ship I was screwed. There was nothing left for me here anyway but now I'd have no place to live. I was almost at the end of the dock and the ship would still be within jumping distance if I made it there in the next twenty seconds. I decided that even if it wasn't, I would jump anyway. It'd be better than staying on land and facing the two behind me, who were out for blood.

Earlier today I had met two men who were in charge of this ship in the main square. I was walking past, looking for some thin cloth to make into a blanket, when I noticed them: one was older looking and stout, while the other was, well, _intriguing_ to say the least. What had drawn my attention was not just the poorly-fashioned table, comprised of two pieces of rotting wood, out of place in the market place filled with regulars with proper stalls, but the second man. I'm very inexperienced with men in general, despite being eighteen years of age, but when this man looked at me, with dark bronzed skin, long beaded dreadlocks and eyes heavily lined in kohl, I felt strangely drawn to him. His chocolate eyes met my hazel ones. He smirked knowingly as if he knew what I was thinking and I looked away, trying not to appear embarrassed but I already felt heat flooding my face as my fair skin blushed rose. It was unusual not to have olive skin and coarse hair in this part of the Caribbean, so with my light complexion and fine soft hair I never seemed to fit in.

"So, love", said the man "Anything exactly you want? I'm sure a pretty lady like yourself," he paused, looking me straight in the eye, "has much more important business to attend to than standing around, talking to some scallywags like ourselves." He grinned.

His voice was a drawl, both gruff and sexy, even though I had no idea how a voice could even be sexy. He seemed to trail off at the ends of his words, leaving them hanging in the air, whilst looking at me with a bemused but interested expression all the while. I just couldn't tear my gaze away from his face either. It was sort of entrancing. I looked up and noticed a tattered orange flag above the stall they had been sitting at; the universal sign of a captain looking for a crew. I started to think quickly, this would be the perfect way to get off this godforsaken island!

"Um, I heard there was a captain looking for a crew, and, er, I would like to be part of that crew."

I ended the sentence with a more assertive tone than I meant to but I felt I had to over-compensate for the staring. There was a pause. As the conversational lull dragged on, I began to realise how stupid I must seem: me; a petite scrawny young girl, dressed in oversized men's clothing (simply because it was more convenient to work in than a dress), trying to become a sailor? They must be struggling to contain their laughter. He continued to smirk, regarding me with evident amusement.

"Ah, yes. The crew. So, dear…you are aware that we are, in fact, pirates, yes?"

Pirates? Oh shit, I thought, the idea hadn't even crossed my mind! Like usual, I hadn't really thought things through. But then again what _had_ I thought they were? It wasn't like any reputable sailors would advertise for a crew in the middle of the day in the market place (of all places!), using a crappy hand-made table as a stall. And this was Tortuga, for god's sake! I decided in that moment it wasn't going to change anything; I needed to get out of here.

Without missing a beat, I replied coolly "Yes, of course. What do you think I am, some kind of idiot?"

I managed to keep my composure neutral even though my mind was racing. He seemed unfazed, continuing to look at me in this odd way and walking around me.

"Right,' he murmured, slowly, contemplating me. 'No no, of course not. So then, what makes you think you'd be a worthy crew member for The Black Pearl?"

The Black Pearl must be their ship, I deduced. After considering his question, I opened my mouth to reply when the other man, who had not spoken during this entire encounter, pretended to cough into his fist muttering 'Capt'n!' and then motioned him to the side. The man who was apparently the Captain, seemed perplexed, glancing at me and then the other man, and then back at me and finally saying " 'Scuse us one second, love", grimacing and raising a finger to emphasise the 'one second'.

He turned away and the other man immediately began speaking in low heated tones. I managed to catch the phrase 'woman on board' and also 'bad luck'. I rolled my eyes. After around thirty seconds of angry whispering, they both turned to look at me simultaneously. I narrowed my eyes. They turned away and then it was the Captain speaking to the other man dismissively. I could tell he was slightly irritated, he was using lots of dramatic hand gestures and kept glancing back at me. The other man started talking again but the captain cut him off by turning around to face me.

"Er…Gibbs an' me," he hesitated. Gibbs appeared exasperated. "Would love t'ave you as part of the crew. But we aren't leaving for another hour or so, so you'll 'ave to meet us at the end of the dock, at dusk. If you're not there in time, then the ship'll leave without you," he finished hurriedly as the man named Gibbs let out a frustrated sigh.

They were about to turn back to the discussion they were obviously having about me when he added confidently "Oh, and by the way, my name's Capt'n Jack Sparrow, but, I'm sure you've 'eard of me, of course."

"Yes, of course." I said, dryly.

I was slightly annoyed they'd had the nerve to talk about me like I wasn't even there, but the overriding emotion I was feeling was overwhelming joy and excitement. He frowned, disheartened that I hadn't heard of him, and I had to stifle a laugh; he looked like a child who'd just broken a toy he quite liked. I managed to adopt the bored impassive expression I practised whenever I was angry or upset, since I had learned over the years that it pays to show as little emotion as possible as people seemed to interpret it as a sign of weakness, a dangerous thing to show in someone like me, someone who could easily be taken advantage of. But secretly I was ecstatic. I had just been given the opportunity I had wanted ever since I could remember and desperately needed at this moment in time. Everything was falling into place. 'My name's Olivia,' I said, evenly.

"Ahh, Olivia," he said, almost to himself, as if testing my name in his mouth and deciding he liked the taste of it.

I hesitated, waiting for him to continue, to give me more instructions. He looked up, surprised I was still there and purred

"Bye now, love"


	2. Waiting for Dusk

I furrowed my brow. How was I supposed to know which ship to get on? And what was I even going to be doing on the ship when we set sail? I shook my head, trying to clear the haziness, and pushed my questions to the back of my mind. I decided the safest thing to do between then and dusk was to lay low and try not to run into The Book-Keeper and the Lord, both of whom were probably out looking for me to exact their revenge. I shivered at the thought. I continued to wander across the main square, forgetting why I'd come to the market anyway, looking for some obscure place to sit until tonight. I still had a handful hours until dusk, but that would give me plenty of time to reflect on the events of the last 24 hours. It's strange how the seemingly small decisions we make every day can impact our entire life. I shook my head again, trying to stop memories from bubbling to the surface.

I considered the idea of me as a pirate. It seemed ridiculous. Ha, my mother would be rolling in her grave, I thought, (although my mother was actually alive as far as I was concerned she was dead to me). It was all very weird though, I had to admit, the way Jack didn't even bother hearing my skills as a sailor before he agreed to take me on. In all honesty I didn't have many, but I was prepared to bullshit my way through it.

I was used to having to prove myself as a hard worker as girls and women were considered incapable by default, and I was also used to the satisfaction I felt when I exceeded the low expectations I'd had placed on me. I felt slightly cheated for some reason. Although it was certainly strange, I decided not to assume the worst; they were probably just desperate for a crew, which was why Jack had ignored that stupid superstition about women and ships anyway. I internally sighed. Sometimes it felt like I was at a disadvantage in every way possible. I struggled but managed to clear my head from all the doubts and worries and let the pure unadulterated excitement wash over me. Now this was going to be an adventure!

I continued walking down out of the main square, and along a dirt road to find a place to sit nearer the docks. I pulled the moss-coloured hand-me-down shirt up over my shoulders, shielding my head and face from the blistering heat of the sun. It left my upper body feeling exposed and vulnerable even though they were mostly covered by undergarments. The track I was walking on was deserted, an old road I'd found years ago when I'd had a lot of time to myself and had decided to explore the island. I spent a lot of time by myself, now that I came to think about it. I didn't mind it, but most of that time I spent envisioning scenarios where I was on some kind of adventure, meeting new people and doing dangerous things.

I had relatively no knowledge of what I had signed up for with Jack and the crew, but it could not be worse than this place. Hell, it could even be fun. Life was dangerous here but not the kind of exciting yet fleeting danger that comes from adventures. No, it was the kind of hopeless inevitable danger that had you constantly fearing for your safety. Nowhere and no-one was ever trustworthy, and if they pretended they were then it meant they could potentially be even more dangerous. The good news was that I'd already met some new people today, granted one thought I was going to curse his ship, so I was sure the adventure part would follow in matter of time. That ship was the doorway to the rest of my life.

My mind started to wander, until I found myself no longer thinking about the implications the ship would have on my life but its captain, Jack Sparrow. I liked the way his name sounded as I said it. Captain. Jack. Sparrow. I wondered what work he'd have me do when we got on the ship, although I had no doubt it would be tough. I was prepared to work as hard as he me wanted to, even if it meant washing the decks five times a day. I realised I was prepared to do anything he wanted me to. No, no I wasn't. He's a pirate, I reminded I had no trouble becoming one for the time being, I knew better than to get involved with one. I knew their types. Womanisers, drunks, thieves.

My father had apparently been my pirate too and my mother said they were all no-good pieces of shit, if I remember correctly. My mother had been a prostitute and she'd never bothered to tell my father about me, not that he'd have cared anyway. My older sister Katherine practically raised me, until she met a visiting tradesman when she was eighteen and I was twelve and left with him. I left home too, the following week. I just couldn't bear to stay in our run-down, crappy house, where my mother had started drinking heavily and entertaining various clients every single night. I've never blamed my sister for leaving me. When you have a chance to leave Tortuga, you take it.

I met The Book-Keeper the following day of my leaving home. I knew I'd have to get a job if I ever wanted to eat again, so I began wandering the streets, looking for work. I started to feel the temperature dropping and the air thickening, while the sun hung dangerously low in the sky. It was common knowledge that a young girl, unaccompanied after dusk had fallen, was guaranteed to be hurt in some way my mother had never fully explained to me. I had, however, picked up on it from some of the disgusting things her clients said to me while they waited for her. I found myself on a deserted street and saw an old book store, nestled between two other battered-looking stores. I remember being surprised that it had not been shut down as most of the people who lived in Tortuga were unable to read.

Nevertheless, I walked up the door, and saw a sign telling me that it was 'closed'. Night had truly fallen and I already heard the drunken cheers from a nearby tavern, frequented by visiting sailors and tradesmen. I knew this was going to be the best place I could hope to find, as while getting work in a tavern did come with accommodation, the idea of being groped and leered at by drunk old men did not appeal to me. I pushed against the door, which I discovered was locked. I noticed a low window through which I could just about make out the sparse décor which consisted of nothing more than a few bookcases and a stool. Upon pressing, it squeaked open ajar. I was a skinny twelve-year-old, and although now I would not be able to fit through that window, having developed a few curves as I've grown, I was able to hoist myself up onto the rotting wooden ledge and slide through the window into the store.

Books had never really interested me. But for the next five years, books were my only friends. I was the only person manning the store most of the time, and business was always slow so, since there was nothing better to do, I taught myself to read and write. It was drudgingly slow at the beginning but after a year or so I found myself taking an increasing interest in literature, even if I could not understand all of it. I discovered emerging myself in a book was the best way to escape the present.

The morning after the first night I was there, The Book-Keeper staggered in after a night of heavy drinking and discovered me curled up in a ball, asleep. He was furious, his hoarse voice and hangover the only things stopping him from screaming at me and outright hauling me out the store. I told him I needed a place to stay and that I would work in return but he just laughed harshly at me. I pleaded with him, I told him I'd earn my keep and he wouldn't even need to pay me, just provide accommodation and a small amount of food. At first he was completely uninterested but I was persistent. Eventually, after he realised how much work I was willing to do, and how much extra time he could spend at the tavern, he relented. If he hadn't had such an awful hangover, he would've kicked me out then and there— I can only thank God for rum.

The Lord and The Book-Keeper were apparently friends, something I'd only discovered last night. They had come to the shop after I'd locked up the store and gone to bed. I was sleeping in the small room above the shop when they began to pound on the door, demanding I let them in. I could hear them singing drunkenly even through my closed window. When I went down to open the door, against my better judgement, I could see how utterly intoxicated they were. I had barely lifted the heavy wooden plank away from its metal casing, that served as a lock, when they pushed their way in, stumbling over the doorway from the cobbled road outside, with their arms around one another. I had a sense it would end badly, but by that time I'd already let them in. Anyway, I could _not_ keep The Book-Keeper locked out of his own store. I'd have rather dealt with him then, when (I thought) he wouldn't remember it the next morning, than risk another beating later for disobeying him.

"Eyyyh who's this?" Lord Smitherson slurred, picking himself up from the floor and looking me up and down, as if surveying a new horse he wanted to buy.

"Th-hat's Olivyyaa" said The Book-Keeper. He was slumped against the door frame and slurring my name too. "Prettyone, in'tshe?"

I turned away in disgust just as the Lord made a grunt of approval. He lunged at me in slow motion, but I darted out the way, my reactions not hindered by alcohol, and he fell flat on his face, knocking over a small bookshelf in the process. He tried and failed to stand up again, but luckily the bookshelf had fallen between us, trapping his leg underneath it. I turned my gaze to the new problem arising that was The Book-Keeper, more sober than his friend, and starting to make his way towards me too, his eyes hungrily roaming my body. I felt sick. I had realised the month before last that something had shifted, when The Book-Keeper had made his last visit and couldn't look me in the eyes for more than a matter of seconds because he had been so avidly staring at my chest. I knew from then on it'd only be a matter of time, but if I could manage to stay out his way when he was drunk then I thought I'd be alright; he wouldn't dare try anything sober, when his judgement was unimpaired.

I quickly assessed the scene. There was a book case and two horny drunks in my way of the exit. Behind me there were the stairs leading to my chamber, but the lock on the door was rusty and would snap like a twig if any force were applied on it. It seemed I had one option left. In one quick fluid motion, I snatched the bottle on the table to my right, and smashed it on the edge, instantly creating a weapon. The Lord was starting to get up, so I pushed over a much larger bookcase and it fell directly on top of him. I saw a mixture of panic and anger flash in The Book-Keeper's bloodshot eyes as he began to register the situation around him. Manoeuvring my way around the fallen bookcases, I sprinted towards the door, which he happened to be directly in front of, blocking my exit.

"Get out my way," I yelled at him, brandishing the broken glass.

Angry and drunk, he clumsily tried to punch me but missed. I thrust the bottle in his face, trying to scare him away, to get him to leave me alone but instead of dodging the action like I anticipated, he didn't move and took one of the sharp points right in his eye. Oh shit, I thought. After letting out a primal sounding scream of pain, he ran directly at me, catching me off-guard and grabbing me, trying to lift me up off the ground. He had his disgusting hands around my wrists and then around my neck, pressing so hard in the soft part I thought I was going to black out.

Although I was screaming, no sound came out. Struggling with all my strength, I tried to punch him in the face, but only succeeded in hurting my bony knuckles more than him, and then clawing at his eyes, trying to stick my fingers inside. He yelled out in pain as I managed to dig them in his eye sockets and he loosened his fingers just enough for me to take a few breaths, and then proceed to kick him sharp and swift in his shin. He let go immediately but before he had time to react I kneed him hard in the groin. Groaning he sank down to the floor. He tried to stand up but, losing his balance, fell, landing on top of me and knocking the air out my lungs.

Whilst I struggled to catch my breath, I noticed he was not moving. He'd appeared to have knocked himself out on the table at the front of the store. I let out a sigh of relief, while still regaining my regular breath. I had not really planned what I would do after I charged at him, and although he was drunk, he was also twice the size of me. Rolling his horrible hairy body off of my own, I stood up, testing my ankle which had twisted at an awkward angle as I fell, and surveyed the scene. One drunkard unconscious and the other unable to move from under the bookcase.

I wasn't going to wait around for them to wake up so I grabbed the coin purse where we kept the money and hurried out the store. I didn't look back, just like I didn't when I left home for the first time five years ago. I ran and ran and ran until I found a spot in an empty alleyway and sat down, shivering from fear and exhilaration. What was I going to do now, I thought. I knew The Book-Keeper would try and find me in the morning, as he was an angry man who took no greater pleasure than in inflicting pain on others. It was already early morning by that point, but the island never slept. I needed to wait here until dawn. It was the safest thing to do. So for the rest of the night I stayed up clutching the broken bottle and the coin purse, trying to think up a plan for the next day. And the next day, and the next day...


	3. The Pearl

I was at the end of the dock. The wet wooden planks groaned loudly under my heavy footsteps as I took one final step and threw myself off it. Time seemed to slow down as I flew through the air. I dumbly registered the beauty in this moment— the taste of salt, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing beneath me, glittering foamy turquoise, while all the other noises around me blurred together and faded into the background. I felt at peace. For about two seconds, at least.

They must have used a ladder to get on the ship because the deck was much higher than I'd anticipated, and further away too. It was an impressive sight, the Black Pearl—but unfortunately I didn't have time to admire it as I hit the water at full speed, quickly resurfacing and gasping for breath. Distantly I heard laughter on the dock above. The ship was still fairly close but I had no idea how I was going to get on it. I swam towards it anyway, battling against the waves and my heavy water-logged clothes, pulling me down towards the ocean floor.

After a few seconds I reached the ship and kept pace with it for a few more strokes. The waves were slapping my face and my eyes were starting to sting from the salt when it occurred to me that I had no possible way to get onto the ship. Oh fuck, oh fuck. I was starting to panic when, thank god, I noticed a long thick rope that had been thrown down over the side. I was saved! Someone on board must have seen me jump! Had they realised that I was meant to be on the ship? Or were they just trying to help? _Help_— ha, I scoffed to myself, on second thought I doubt it. Whatever their reasons, I didn't care. I gratefully grabbed the knotted end of the rope and hung onto it for dear life as whoever it was hauled me up on the deck.

I clambered over the side of the ship, tripping and ungracefully landing in a heap on the floor. Breathing heavily, I looked up, suddenly aware of the four menacing-looking men standing around me, the end of the rope I was still clutching at their feet. They were looking at one another surprised and there was a moment of stunned silence before the first man cleared his throat. He had a scraggly beard, as did the rest of them and he towered over me from where he was standing. One of his crewmate's had a face covered in tattoos while the other could not be taller than 5 feet.

The first man stared at me. "Yu're a girl." he said bluntly

He spoke with a thick Irish accent.

I got up, shivering, and took a step forward. There was about a 3 feet distance between us now and I was no taller than his shoulder.

"Aye," I replied defensively. "So what if I am?" meeting his watery grey eyes with a defiant stare.

There was an awkward pause. I could hear the sound of my soaking wet clothing and hair dripping onto the floor. A puddle of water had collected where I was standing. The man glanced at the others, unsure of how to respond when suddenly I heard the rough voice of the Captain coming from behind me.

"What's all this…ah! Olivia! You made it then, love"

I glared at him and he did a double take.

"Why are you wet?" he asked, confused.

"You said the ship was leaving at dusk." I spat. "The sun hasn't even gone down!"

"Yes…sorry about that, love…but, why are you wet?"

"Because YOU left early! Because I needed to get on this godforsaken ship and I sure as hell wasn't going to let anything stop me!" I was fuming.

They probably left early on purpose. I knew Gibbs didn't want me on the ship; maybe he had convinced Jack to leave without me. I became even angrier at the thought. The selfish bastards.

I scowled at him and we made eye contact. His eyes were piercingly soft. I felt uncomfortable but I didn't look away, determined to stare him down. He grinned.

"It's a good look on you, love."

I glanced down and saw that my soaking clothes had stuck to my skin and my shirt had gone slightly see-through. I blushed furiously and tried to loosen my top but to no avail. I felt humiliated. I turned around and was about to storm out when I heard the Captain call after me.

"Alright, alright! Yes, it is possible that we left slightly earlier than we originally set out to." I turned around, and he handed me another shirt, which seemed appeared from thin air, to put on over the damp one. I accepted it reproachfully.

"But," he continued. "Maybe…maybe..._you _got the time wrong."

I sighed in disgust, giving him a look that would make flowers wilt and turned on my heel and marched towards the railing of the ship. I looked out across the water. The ship was moving at a surprisingly fast speed and the dock (with my old life) was already in the distance.

The Captain walked over, the others following behind.

"There's no point standing around, love. We better get you settled in then, shall we?" He spoke softly and as sheepishly as was possible for someone with his unfaltering confidence. "McLeary, Orlans…take Miss Olivia to the cabins, savvy? Show her where she'll be sleeping. And then show her what she'll be doing in the meantime. I would myself but as it were, I 'ave a, uh, prior engagement."

They looked at him questioningly.

"With a bottle of rum." He admitted cheekily.

The man with tattoos, Orlans, seemed hesitant to move. He looked at McLeary, the first man who'd spoken, uneasily.

"Well? What're you waiting around for? Chop, chop. Get to it! As I said, there are two bottles of rum sitting in my quarters that I do _not_ intend to keep waiting any longer."

'Urr, Cap'n?' muttered Orlans, the first time he'd spoken since I'd gotten aboard. His voice was very deep with a subtle Caribbean accent. "You know it's, ur, it's awful bad luck to 'ave a woman on board."

I could not believe this. Him too?

"She bloody swam to the ship!" the shorter man said, turning to Orlans. "And I'll be damned if we hauled all that weight up for naught. She can make herself useful, goddamn it. "

"Smithy, have you no recollection of the story that Ol' Max told us abou—"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" I cried, cutting Orlans off. "All of you need to grow up! It's a bloody stupid superstition and anyway I'm sick to death of you talking about me like I'm not here!" They seemed a bit taken aback by my outburst but I didn't care. I was still furious from having to swim my way to the bloody boat and these lot were pissing me off even more.

"She's right, mate" said the Captain. "I've had plenty of women on board and nothing bad's ever happ'nd to the ship…as far as I can tell, at least. And I would be able to tell." Orlans and the other unnamed man looked at him horrified.

He smirked.

"Well, you know. The whole experience seems to be so greatly and unquestionably improved when it takes place in one's own bed, does it not, lads?" They all snickered, and he winked at me. "Right, love?"

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. He was so vulgar. On second thought, I think I preferred it when they weren't talking to me.

"So me hearties, you must take her to the cabins first, assign her a bunk and let her deposit any effects she may have on her person in the holding box. Then show her around the ship, make sure she knows how to do the chores. Then gather the other new crew members and bring them to my quarters, savvy?" Orlans started to protest but the Captain raised his voice. "Orlans, I'm sorry to inform you but that was not in fact a question but an order. So, if you'll excuse me… there is rum to be attended too" And with that he strode off.

Smithy and the other man, whose name I still didn't know, walked off bickering, leaving McLeary and Orlans standing awkwardly in front of me.

**Hey guys, right now I'm in the process of re-evaluating everything I've written so far, so bear with me between now and the next chapter but hopefully from here on out, it'll be much better than the ones before. **

**Really could do with some feedback so tell me what you like/don't like/ anything!**


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